


the wall was too high

by beforeallthis



Category: Halt and Catch Fire
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:30:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforeallthis/pseuds/beforeallthis
Summary: Somehow, when he enters Joe’s apartment, he knows that this is the last time he'll see it.





	

He wakes up and knows he’s not dreaming, because he hasn’t had a single one over these past few nights. Only sometimes he catches himself thinking about who will come to save him, or who will come to arrest him in the last few moments of his waking state, right before he sleeps. Like the closure gives him last minute comfort, and it sets him off, looking for rest, finally. Maybe, he thinks, when he wakes up there’ll be an FBI officer towering over him. Or maybe it’ll be Joe. They both tower, anyway.

Instead this time, when he wakes up, reeling from the pain in his back from the worn out sofa, he sees Cameron. And he knows he’s not dreaming, however improbable this is. Her eyes are bigger than he remembers but maybe it’s just the way she’s looking at him, calm and something soft in her gaze.

He asks her how she found him and after two words he figures out where he went wrong. He hopes that the FBI aren’t as good as she is, and she’s very good. But then again, he thought he was better than good. The best. And oh, he feels so wrong now.

She says that Joe wants to help him first, and then she says she does, too. Almost as a reflex, he moves to get up and away from wherever this is headed, because he only sees one way out with them, and he’s not going to turn himself in. Trying to run is difficult, though, when you have nowhere to run to. These are the only people he knows, and the only people who cared about him, even if they both wronged him in different ways. 

Her eyes are on him with every motion and every single thing that leaves his mouth. When he talks about the cops, he sees something there that is sympathy, or pity, or confusion – he can’t really tell, not like he was ever good at this. It irks him a bit, reminds him of how nobody listened, and even though she is looking at him listening, dropping in the right amount of nods and ‘yeah’s to prove that she is paying attention, it grates on his nerves - but that’s not what he should be worried about right now. The next thing out of his mouth is just the next thing in his queue of thoughts, and he doesn’t _really_ mean to say it out loud, but when he does, he doesn’t regret it. Only the things that led him to say it, to know it.

“Joe probably hates me now.”

There is no to and fro, he says it once and that’s it. Cameron is quick to refute him, and then settles for a more diplomatic approach. He’s never known Cameron like he does now, or maybe he just never saw this side of her. This was his ex-boss, the woman who earlier told him to stay away from Joe, now urging him to get the help he’s being offered by the Enemy himself. In the end, she prompts him with the offer to not go see Joe at all, with a side of true intention and a last attempt.

“Look. I found you. So you can’t hide forever.”

He takes her up on the offer, and makes her promise not to tell Joe where he is.

* * *

 

Somehow, when he enters Joe’s apartment, he knows that this is the last time he'll see it.

 _So Asian_ , he can’t help himself from thinking, thinking back to that first night he came here. And to the nights after, after Joe asked him to work with him. How it changed after he had lived here, working with Joe, just making shit up. And then he picks up on how different it looks now, because he's surprised to find that he knows every inch of it, to find that he misses it and the comfort, the joy it once gave him. There are no scatters of paper, no stacks of books and studies and codes, no computers and no board, no great inventions. Any proof of him being there, of what he created, side-by-side with Joe is gone. The only thing is him, right here, standing on this ridiculously expensive carpeting.

If he leaves, that’s it. Not a blimp in the existence of others, but someone who did something so bad that people will know who he was - a felon, or a friend, maybe.

He doesn’t know if he regrets it or not. In wait of Joe in the dark apartment, he waits for any emotion to settle in but he can’t pick one. If he wants to cry, his throat doesn’t itch. If he wants to scream, it might explain the clenching in his chest, the weight on his shoulders. But he doesn’t know what to say, or do. So he just waits for Joe.

* * *

 

“Ryan?” he says, half-happy, half-scandalized that he found his way into his apartment, but he’s not surprised. Even less surprised that he’s a bit proud. But Ryan sets the mood for this conversation, not him.

Anger spews out of his mouth but it’s not all targeted at Joe – he’s looking at the floor, shaking his head, like he’s scolding himself for letting it get past him. And even though Joe’s ready to tell him that it’s not true, he feels bad all the same. In truthfulness, bringing him in was an afterthought, after realizing what Ryan had done. What Ryan had done _for him_.

But the anger swiftly finds its way back at him except that there’s less anger there now, and more disbelief in the downturn of Ryan's mouth. Accusing him in one breath, and reaching for him in the next.

“…you didn’t have the guts to do it yourself! And I’ve been out there ever since, defending your name, telling the real story.”

It makes Joe wonder just how badly he messed up. How he didn’t mean to. _God,_  how he wanted the opposite of this. That was the plan. But he stops thinking about it, and instead notices how Ryan hasn’t shaved since he last saw him, and how he never saw bags under his eyes like this, not even when he pulled those all-nighters, where he’d wake up and see Ryan still smashing away at the keyboard. Wired in, and the coffee turned cold next to him. Joe would always make him a new one, and that one would get cold, too. 

“I’m worried about you,” and he’s not lying. He bites his cheek instead of reaching out to put Ryan’s face between his hands and hold him against his chest. Maybe he was lying to Gordon earlier – he doesn’t know, doesn’t care. This is not a lie.

And he’s not angry either. Ryan wants him to be, maybe give him something easier to process, but there’s nothing easy about this.

“I wish you hadn’t upset the NSFNET deal. You’ve made things much harder,” the truth might set him free. “But that is less important than knowing that you’re okay,” or maybe the truth makes things _that_ much harder.

A silence hangs but Joe knows there isn’t that much time. He wants there to be another way, but he only has the two options, each one worse than the other. Either way, he will help him.

“Either way, I will help you,” Joe does not need to remind himself that he is not lying.

Ryan had already processed that everything would disappear if he runs away; he’d already done the math, but when it’s said out loud to him by the one person he was trying to keep afloat, he feels fire in his lungs and his eyes burn a little. Instead of crying, he spits, “No, I don’t want that. No, I can’t.”

Every word Joe says is a hurt, and he knows it but there isn’t any other way. He tells him they’ll never let him touch a computer again, not for a long time, and that hurts him, very obviously in the way he twitches and shouts “that’s insane!”

The next step should have been the easiest. _Should have._ Joe didn’t think Ryan would want anything to do with him, not after everything and especially not after this. But in fact, it is Ryan’s final hope. Almost begging, it’s a quiet plea.

“Tell me we can still work together.”

He tries not to let on his shock, his bewilderedness and tries to keep this whole thing level, as level as it can get. Ryan doesn’t want this, doesn’t want this Joe. He wants classic Joe MacMillan, the Joe everyone hated and hates, the Joe that broke hearts and people’s lives. Joe retaliates, but something nudges him in his mind, _you’re ruining his life right now._

“I can’t work with Joe MacMillan anymore,” he confesses. Although, he is not so sure that this isn’t who he really is. But he still tries.

Ryan won’t meet his gaze and it puts Joe off, even if he has been staring at him since he walked through the door. His hair is a mess and he’s sure Ryan isn’t breathing, because he is standing so still, unblinking, at the carpet. He leaves to get some sheets and when he tries to make up the sofa, Ryan tells him he can go to bed.

Joe doubts himself, looking out from his bedroom door as Ryan makes up his resting place for the night and wants to go back out and kiss him maybe, or just hold him close, apologize or wish it all away. He wants to feel his warmth and life as he runs his fingers through his hair, never letting go. Show Ryan the true extent of his feeling, let Ryan show Joe his, too. Tell him _just_ how proud he is. That he's right, Ryan did this. It's all his. And he deserves it all.

But he broke the law.

For  _Joe MacMillan._

He goes to bed with tears in his eyes and maybe wishing that Ryan had gone to someone better than him. He didn’t deserve this, not him. 

Ryan knows, though. He knows Joe is telling the truth, the two options, and the lot of it. He _was_ still young, he had a chance for a future. But a future without Joe? The only person who indulged him, enabled him and unlocked _this_ part of him that helped create the next big thing? And he can’t help himself but look at Joe and how far he’s gotten, despite it all, aged and wise but still young. He finally feels his throat start to itch when he remembers the first time they sat in this same place, making shit up, bouncing off of each other. The wonder that consumed him when Joe held his shoulders and pointed at what they created, the joy that filled him when Joe told him the deal was going through and how he wrapped his arms around him, unable to contain himself. Joe, _Joe, Joe._ Joe is everywhere, except for after this. Joe will be nowhere and Ryan will be in jail, or far far away from everything and everyone that made him.

So Ryan thinks of that. Making shit up. Always finding another option. The itching leaves his throat and although he feels like there’s an anvil in his chest, his mind buzzes in search for a third choice.

The wind is cold outside, and the view is killer.

 

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa i can't believe they did this and i can't believe i just made myself feel worse enjoy
> 
> title is from hey you! by pink floyd


End file.
